Sherlock S4 E1 My version
by CeciliaHolmesvmh
Summary: In the ending of "The Abominable Bride" Sherlock stated that Moriarty was dead - and that he knew exactly what he was going to do next. Follow him as he interacts with this new old threat and solves exciting cases to understand the whole picture - until he not only finds out who is behind all this, but also about himself as he is confronted with his past and future (aka John!).
1. Previously on Sherlock

**Previously on „Sherlock"**

Sherlock woke up to reality a bit confused, so he looked around to return to the situation he had been in before. As he noticed John on his left he decided to make a funny reference to let him know everything was fine without having to have a huge discussion.

„Miss me?", he asked and couldn't help but smile when he saw his John again... he thought he had lost him! This was relief.

"Sherlock, you're alright?"

John had leaned over to him, his eyes were full of worry. Of course he was worried! Sherlock looked terribly ill.

"Yes, of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

It was Mary to reply. Sherlock barely even listened. His thoughts were stuck on John and he was still in his own world somehow and had to concentrate hard to handle reality. Mary wanted... to take him to hospital.

"Hm, no time. I have to go to Baker Street now that Moriarty's back."

That was the clearest thought he could make. Actions were necessary now. So he got up, but walking was still hard to manage.

"I almost hope he is", Mycroft stood in the way, "If it saves you from this."

He lifted the list of drugs Sherlock had taken. It was more of an accusation, although Mycroft would have actually been glad about anything that could keep his little brother from a relapse.

"No need for that now", Sherlock ripped the paper to pieces, "I have the real thing. I've got work to do."

"Sherlock... promise me?", Mycroft insisted, almost begged, letting through a bit of caring in his voice and look. Sherlock had no idea how to react to that. Caring was not an advantage. And suddenly Mycroft broke his own rule? Sherlock had forgotten how emotions looked on his brother. He was confused and a bit tended to give in. But no. He had to shut people out. John was a risk already, but with him the emotions were so strong that he had given up the fight. Then he realized that it was Mycroft who had even brought him to this situation, to losing John, leaving home. What a great deal he had made with the government.

"What are you still doing here? Shouldn't you be off getting me a pardon or something? Like a proper big brother?"

So he rushed out of the plane, Mary following him, John trying to. But Mycroft held him back.

"Doctor Watson... look after him... please?"

Mycroft was very well aware of the impact John had on Sherlock. And although he would have preferred to do it on his own, this was the only option to keep Sherlock safe.

John just nodded, then he went outside the plane. He simply had to be with Sherlock now.

Mycroft stayed alone, picking up the pieces of the paper, just like he had picked up the pieces of his fragile little brother on his worst day, during his darkest times. Memories tortured him. And the fear that they'd happen all over again. Redbeard...

"Sherlock, hang on", John ran after his tall friend, "Explain. Moriarty's alive then."

"I never said he was alive, I said he was back."

They stopped in front of the car.

"So he's dead", Mary assumed.

"Of course he's dead, he blew his own brain out, no one survives that. I just went to the trouble of an overdose to prove that."

Hopefully John wouldn't react as he had feared... hopefully he would stay at his side... Sherlock couldn't stand John being mad at him... or even worse – losing him. And hopefully he wouldn't find out that he had been the reason Sherlock had to anaesthetise himself...

"Moriarty is dead, no question", he went on after a short look at Mary, "More imporantly: I know exactly what he's going to do next."

Sherlock said the last sentence explicitly to John and gave him a little smile. After the comment about his coat collar etc. Sherlock knew that John loved it when he was being mysterious. So he simply went into the car, the other ones following him.

The fall was over. The game was on.


	2. To die was an art Chapter 1 pt 1

**To die was an art**

~ Sherlock's point of view ~

As soon as John had followed me into the car he started asking me questions. Loads of questions. And although most of them were irrelevant for the case "Moriarty is back" I listened patiently to every single one of them. Not because I was interested in their content, but because I was happy on a level words couldn't even hope to describe.

I didn't lose John. He was here with me, excited, nosy and lovely as ever. I was sitting next to him, so close that I could have held his hand if I hadn't been able to control myself. So close I could have stolen a kiss...

"Sherlock", John insisted as I kept staring at him without a reply, "What is going on here? Tell me about your thoughts. You usually don't need to be asked like this, you need to be stopped from talking. So what is on your mind?"

It took me a second to realize that he was talking about the case and not my real thoughts. Of course. How could he have known?

But what I didn't understand was why he kept insisting on me to tell him what Moriarty's plans were. He hadn't been interested at all when I had survived...

~ John's point of view ~

How could he possibly do this to me? I had barely even been able to talk before, I could just stare at Sherlock, those red eyes, his exhausted face. He almost couldn't walk!

How long had he been gone? Like 10 minutes and look what he had done to himself... just to solve some stupid case that was about a hundred years old? I couldn't have lost him, not again. I had lost him once already, and seeing him dead again was definatly not an option. He couldn't die. He was Sherlock Holmes! He always survived somehow, no idea how, but he did. But taking those drugs... it was a medical thing, chemistry. He couldn't trick that...

But I didn't want to talk to him about it, at least not now. I had just seen how he had reacted to his own brother and I didn't want to be in the same position. It was a tensed topic. So I decided to do us both a favour and talk about Moriarty. Not that Sherlock wasn't my priority, he was, (and if I could I would have taken him in my arms to tell him all would be fine, while I would nurse him back to health), but I had to talk about something else now. For Sherlock's best and my own as well.

"As I said, Moriarty's back."

"Yes, Sherlock, you have made that pretty clear. But at the same time you said he was dead. How could that be possible?"

Sherlock considered himself married to his work. And it was true. He loved our investigations, he didn't even try to hide his excitement (which I admired so much) at all. So if there was something that could drag his attention away it was a case.

"Moriarty died as a Martyr, John. Just like Emilia Ricoletti he was part of a group that would continue his work after his death. He would always exist as an idea of perfect crime and danger in our heads, and that's also what's coming up to us. I thought I had killed every single person that stood behind him, but it seems I have overlooked a few people. And what they plan to do is pretty simple."

"What's that?"

"Why kill me of course."

"Then why are we going to Baker Street? Isn't that where they'd look for you first?"

I was alarmed now. Going back? He couldn't be serious. They'd be waiting for us, it'd be a trap and we'd run into it! They'd kill Sherlock... no, I wouldn't allow that. If I had to... I'd kill them first.

"Precisely. No matter what awaits us there, it will show us who we are dealing with."

"In case it doesn't kill you before you can even take a peak", Mary said, sitting in the front seat.

"Mary's right,

"Have you forgotten who we're dealing with? It's Moriarty, he's a criminal mastermind, but most of all, like me. And as you have so politely mentioned once, John: I am a drama queen, and so is Moriarty. He won't kill me at once, otherwise he would have already. Why would he have put his face like an advertisement on every screen in the UK? He wanted attention. He could have killed me easilly, if he had wanted to, blow up the plane for instance, but he didn't. No, something bigger is coming up to us and I bet it's all made for me, all to make me suffer. For what reason ever."

Yes, it made sense, like most things Sherlock said. But on the other hand it was Moriarty whom we were talking about. What if he played some kind of twisted mind double hand game thing? What if he knew that Sherlock would think exactly the way he did and had included that in his plan? I was still alarmed, but simply nodded. He should know I trusted him, although there were some doubts cought in my throat.

When we arrived at Baker Street Sherlock and I got out of the car. Mary wanted to come along, but I had reminded her on her pregnancy and she finally listened to reason. If it had been just her she, of course, would have taken the risk without the blink of an eye, but we now also had to think of the safety of the child... which made everything even more complicated... but I couldn't think about my feelings for Sherlock right now. He was standing right next to me, which made me shiver, but... I was married to Mary, now. Sherlock had been gone, I had moved on. And now that he was back... the feelings for him which I had tried to fight so hard were, too. I thought they'd go away when building up a life with Mary, but they didn't and... sigh, everything was so complicated!

"Shall we?", Sherlock smiled in an adventurous way and I just couldn't help but say "Yes". The case. Moriarty. That was all that mattered now. Not dying. Keeping Sherlock safe. I checked the gun in the bag of my jacket. I would have done everything that it took for that man.

~Sherlock's point of view~

So we went upstairs, without meeting Mrs. Hudson and her irritating comments, which was conspicious enough already. She usually only needed to hear the front door opening and she knew we were here. Maybe she was busy. But with what should she be busy?

I opened the door and started to look around immediately. If there was a bomb or something (yes, the organisation Moriarty didn't want to kill me, but that didn't mean they wouldn't hurt me or John) I had to find it before we'd get hurt. They surely have put some hints for me, and they also left some they didn't know of. But many things seemed to be just normal. The books on my shelf were all in the same order as before, the pictures on the wall and the armchairs haven't been moved, John sat in one of them, the lamps were just as I had left them and... John? John was back here! Memories came back to my mind, memories of all the great times we had, and each one started with us sitting there... and now he did again. I felt like in one of those flashbacks I had watched over and over again in my mindpalace, but this time it was different. It was real! But it somehow felt surreal too. I was tended to touch him to know I wasn't fantasizing... what was the big deal about it anyway? He would just think about it as part of my method, another freaky quirk of mine. So as I moved on walking through the room, I slightly brushed his shoulder with my hand and wanted to let go and continue as I realized what was different. One of my laptops stood opened on the table. It was still switched of, but I know I hadn't placed it there, so it must have been some of Moriarty's henchmen. Before I let go, I shortly felt John's hand on mine, as he asked in a tone I interpreted as worry: "Sherlock, what's wrong? Have you found something?"

I would have cheered of joy if this discovery hadn't been so important.

"My laptop. Why my laptop?", I murmered as I lifted it and turned it around, looked at it from all sides and angles, "They could have left a note but they didn't... what can a laptop be useful for? Maybe they have turned the battery into the bomb or..."

"Maybe you should switch it on?", John suggested.

Yes! Yes that was it! My smart John, what would I do without him?

So I did as he had said, but it didn't show my usual background, but a collage of John and me as.. as animals. John was a dog, sitting on his armchair just as he did now and me as a raven, staring cluelessly at the screen. It was like a mirror, our heads put together with the animals' bodies like a collage, and all entitled in capital letters with: IT'S GREAT TO HAVE A TRACKING DOG WHEN YOU'RE SO VAIN AND COMPLICATED IT MAKES YOU DULL, AIN'T I RIGHT, SHERLOCK?

I looked at John who seemed to be as shocked as I felt. This was designed to hurt me, to make me scared. Unfortunately, and I would have never admitted that in front of John, it did his work. They did know how everything would take place, they knew I wouldn't know that I had to switch on the laptop (which actually wasn't too surprising after Moriarty having stated already that I was searching for the twisted things which was my biggest flaw), but what really made my hair stand on end was how much they knew about John...

Suddenly we heard screams from downstairs. Choked cries, like through a gag, behind a door. Mrs. Hudson!

I dropped the latop at once and ran down the stairs. By the sound of his feet on the wood I knew John was following me.

"Mrs. Hudson?!", I shouted. She must have been here somewhere. But where? "Come on, Mrs. Hudson, make a sound!"

I heard something like a "mmmm! Mm mm!" and followed that. It led me to a door. I tried to open it, but it was locked.

"Where's the key?", I wheeled around and looked to every corner of the kitchen. No key...

"I will look for it", John said and started to search the floor. But there was no time... I prepared myself to burst the door open. So I started to run, but...

"Oh Sherlock!", I heard a way too familiar voice from upstairs, "You don't really want to open that door, do you?"

Moriarty? I looked at John who seemed to be as confused as I was. It was his voice. It definitely was. But how? The laptop, of course...

"You know where I am, come on, don't let me wait..."

What if this now was a trap? Mrs. Hudson was in danger... maybe we would be in danger going upstairs. Choice! I had to make a choice!

"Oh Sherlock! Time is passing, tick, tock, tick, tock, but is it a clock?"

A bomb. Somewhere was a bomb. I ran out of the kitchen. He'd tell me where it was. That's why he wanted me upstairs. A riddle, a case. Something like that, something to solve. That was Moriarty. He wouldn't let me die that easily. Right?

"We will come back and set you free, Mrs. Hudson", I heard John say behind me as I was already flying up the stairs to the apartment.

I slowed down when I arrived at the top. Whoever they were, they shouldn't see my fear. It wasn't James Moriarty himself, that much I knew. But that new enemy surely worked the same way. I wouldn't hand them over the superior role just like that. I was going to act as if all was just fine, as if I hadn't been touched the slightest bit.


	3. To die was an art Chapter 1 pt 2

~ John's point of view ~

I almost ran into Sherlock as he had stopped in front of the apartment's entrance. I was about to say something, to tell him to hurry, as he moved on. He walked slower now, not straight up to the laptop, as I would have if I hadn't stop to watch what he was doing, but took off his coat and his scarf.

"Yes that's right", Moriaty's voice said from the laptop, and I finally turned to it to have a look, "Get more comfortable. It's your apartment after all. Let's create a cozy atmosphere."

The lights dimmed a little, but I barely noticed. I could just stare at the screen.

"Sherlock, you said he was dead. Then who is that here?"

I was really frightened now. That. Was. Moriarty. No doubt about that. I had seen him often enough. It was him. He called Sherlock via videochat and was watching us now.

"It has been recorded, John. I told you Moriarty is dead."

Sherlock still walked around the room as if he was looking for something. He didn't seem to find it.

"Very clever, Sherlock. Very clever. And you're right, I am no longer among the living. But doesn't this make things even scarier?"

"That you can't tell your henchmen to kill me or my companions anymore? Yes, tears me apart in fear", Sherlock replied and sat down on the chair in front of the laptop. I walked towards him and stood behind him then, my hand always on the gun in my bag.

"Then you surely have figured out by now what this really is about?", Moriarty asked.

"Yes. Moriarty has killed himself when we were on the roof. Now somebody else has taken his place, some power-hungry ex-employee of his, hello by the way, to continue the work he hasn't been able to finish himself. I don't blame you, sir, everybody would be beguiled by such a position and the possibilities Moriarty's network provide. But to get to that position and take over the legacy people are not allowed to know who you really are, so you have to exterminate me."

"Correct, correct, and correct, but... wrong! Oh Sherlock, people need to know who I am. I am greater than our little Jim could ever have been! And you are going to help me with that, aren't you?"

"Doubt that", I replied now, this was strange enough, and I didn't want to play along no more, "And if you want people to know you, just show yourself. Why hiding behind this mask if you could present yourself the most extraordinary way?"

"He will present himself", Sherlock answered me without seperating his eyes from the screen, "He will give me a case, just like our original Moriarty did, and I will have to solve it. He will show that he is even better than Moriarty, advertise himself and let people know that a new age of criminal consulting has started. My role is to find out who he is, and, in the end, to have a tragic death, I guess. So that this new principle seems to even be better than the old one. He finished the job Moriarty wasn't able to."

"So, when do we start? Hm, hm, what about.. now?"

The screen turned off and we heard a huge explosion outside and below us. Mrs. Hudson! I ran downstairs to look for her at once. There was smoke everywhere, the walls all black, the curtains burning.

"Mrs. Hudson!", I screamed, running towards the door we had found he behind before. Why hadn't we freed her when we had had the chance to?! Why had we listened to that lunatic?! "Mrs. Hudson!"

I arrived at the door, that now was spread all over the floor in small splinters. I sighed with relief as I saw her leaned against the wall, covered in some pieces that used to be protective pillows before, and like a miracle she wasn't injured but coughing.

"John!", I heard Sherlock shouting from above, "John, is she alright?"

"Yes!", I shouted back after having done what was the most necessary.

"Come here, now!"

I went upstairs, he worried me. He usually didn't shout like this. He wanted me to come to him, but he sent a message or something. Yes, it would have been strange in this situation, but we're talking about Sherlock!

"What is it?", I asked, but Sherlock didn't reply. He just stood in front of the window, staring outside, the curtains blowing in the wind. I slowly attended him, looked at him, came to stand next to him. His view was frozen, he didn't even move. I knew that state of his, but not like this. It wasn't just detached as usual, I was able to detect fright in his eyes, but also a sense of excitement.

I slowly followed his view, trying to prepare myself for what I was about to see, but when I saw it, I was unable to move a single cell of my body, except for my mouth that fell open.

On the walls of the building on the other side of the road flaunted big red letters, that dissolved in direction of the floor and seemed to be written in blood:

COME, FIND ME!


	4. To die was an art Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"There's nothing here!", Sherlock shouted and overthrew a table, "That can't be it! He must have left clues, something to go by! He wants me to find him so why can't I find anything?!"

He was pacing about a table, nervous, aggressive, scared. It was terrible to see him like this, and terrible to have the others see him like this, too.

"Maybe he was just lucky?", Lestrade suggested.

While Sherlock had rushed downstairs again to examine the crime scene, I had called an ambulance for Mrs. Hudson, the police had received several calls by anxious neighbours who had heard the explosion.

"No, no, no. He wouldn't leave this to chance... the clue is that he didn't leave anything, except for the writing on the wall, the bomb, the pillows that saved Mrs. Hudson... of course! He wants the focus dragged towards those things, and he wants me to know that he is rigorous enough not to leave hints that shouldn't be there. A professional, not a starter, a planner. Somebody that knows exactly what he's doing when positioning a bomb, somebody who is patient enough to follow us all the time to be able to recreate our daily routine, our reactions, our characters. Somebody who likes to play mindgames. Somebody who is thrilled to see me go mad..."

"As if you weren't already!", I heard Anderson say from behind. I had to take a deep breath to control myself. A right placed hit would have been the right medicine for that guy, but I know I couldn't do that. Still, what was he even doing here? What was his use? Mocking Sherlock? He was examaning some part of the floor that surely was irrelevant, Sherlock would have done so minutes ago otherwise. So how did that ignorant piece of... how did he dare insult him?!

~Sherlock's point of view~

I didn't comment on what Anderson said this time, I didn't even really listen. Anderson: Boring. The case: VERY exciting! So many questions I couldn't answer yet, so many clues yet to find, so many riddles to solve.

I looked out of the window again. Those words. Just words. Not interesting. The kind of writing... I was sure that I had seen it somewhere already, but that I didn't remember where made the thing extrememly conspicious. And no matter how hard I tried to concentrate, I couldn't remember. The colour, I had to focus on the colour, forget about the past. For some reason I might have deleted the handwriting. So: The colour.

Garnet red, premium manifacture, obtained by the carmine scale, imported from southern Mexico, not keen. Painted on there while John and I had been distracted, like 15 minutes to get to the walls and let everything that had helped reaching the place disappear. Ladder? Too small. From out of the windows? Too complicated. Aerial ladder? Possible. Eye-catching? Definately. Asking people on the street if they had seen somebody? Not really my area...

"Oh Sherlock, is this too difficult for you? I knew you couldn't solve it."

Moriarty?! I turned around, looked around. He stood there, right next to John. No. No! How...? I took a step back.

"Go away from him!", I shouted at him.

He had a knife in his hand. No! Not John!

"Since when do you need other people to solve the case for you? Aren't you smart enough anymore? I'm disappointed in you, ordinary Sherlock."

„Stay back! You're not going to hurt him!", I shouted in rage. I was really fierce now. He did all this to me and now he wouldn't even let John get out of this?! He could take away my everything, kill me, if it did please him, but he would keep his dirty fingers from my John!

"Am I not? Let's make this more interesting, shall we? You solve the case, I let him go. Doesn't that sound fair?"

I wanted to wipe that grin out of his face, beat him, make him stop. He held the knife on John's throat, his carotid artery.

"Sh..rlock, wh..s g..ng ..n?", I heard John's voice. He moved, he looked at me, his face was pale. He seemed far, far away.

"Tell me where to find the man that painted the words on the wall!", Moriarty shouted and I stumbled slightly backwards, I wavered, with pain in my head like a lightning that striked into it.

"He cleared off from the rooftop", I murmured with my fingertips pressed against the sides of my head, trying to focus, "Because I described Moriarty as a spider. It's a show, symbols always please the fans. So he cleared off like some spider, to put the words on the wall."

"You know me so well, honey", Moriarty smiled, still holding the knife against John's throat, but they had made some steps towards me, "Continue, if it pleases you."

"For that he had to be quite thin, a person with too much weight would have needed more time, a professional, probably from a climbing club, going to a centre often, practicing, so he has a membership. There are 23 climbing gyms in london, 3 exclusive ones, which he can afford going by the price he must have paid for the paint. Going by the kind of climbing that was necessary, it must have been "Wallwards climbing"."

I was about to break down, I could almost feel it, the room was turning around.

"Lestrade, hand me that newspaper", I pointed to my table.

"Are you sure? Maybe you should..."

"Hand me the newspaper! Now!", I shouted, barely able to keep standing, my balance getting worse and worse.

He gave it to me, I could see Moriarty grinning, I browsed through the pages.

"We're looking for the best of climbers. The one that wouldn't fail the job. It's him."

Gareth Skinner, he had just been interviewed for his new record, he had made it to climb a certain range in a new best time.

"Well done!", Moriarty smiled as he slowly vanished, "See how a little pressure can help? Now don't disappoint me again, I don't want to meet you among the dead."

I collapsed to the floor and could only see John rushing towards me. He was safe. That was all that mattered. John. Moriarty was gone. John was here, talking to me, I couldn't understand what he was saying. John. Taking care of me in some way, I didn't really understand what he was doing.

"Stay with me! For god's sake, Sherlock! Stay with me!"

I fought the darkness that wanted to swallow me, that I wanted to give in to and sleep. I stayed with John.


	5. To die was an art Chapter 2 pt 2

~ John's point of view~

Some time later I stood in the doorframe of Sherlock's room. He layed in his bed, he was asleep. On the one hand I was glad that he would be fine again, on the other hand I was still worried and couldn't just leave him, go home and forget about what had happened today. Tonight I would stay here, look after him and help him if it was necessary. I had called Mary and explained the situation to her. Although the child could be born anytime now, she said it would be fine and she would just call Janine for a sleepover.

I watched Sherlock sleeping... he was breathing, he was alive. I could still hear the voices, the commotion in the room. The murmurs that weren't silent enough, Donovon and Anderson talking. Lestrade in worry, like Mrs. Hudson. Still nobody rushed to him as I did.

The way he had stared at me horrifiedly, the pain that was written on his face, his hallucinations that seemed to terrify him and the desperate moves he had made... I could never forget anything of this scene. And then his breakdown. Not knowing if his heart was still beating or if he had a heart attack. Not knowing if he would survive or if the bloody overdose would kill him.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Now he just laid there, peacefully, as if nothing had happened. Only a bit of light came through the door, but it bathed the room in some orange atmosphere, it felt warm, although I was so cold.

I couldn't help it, but walked into the room and sat down next to Sherlock on the bed. I placed one hand on his shoulder very carefully. I didn't want him to wake up, he had to rest. But I needed to be this close to him now. He would never know, and I would have the insurance that he was still here. I looked at him. He was such an astounding man. Always a fighter, surviving somehow.

After the emergency doctor had done what I couldn't and assured us that after a rest all would be fine (well, as fine as it could be in this situation), I had told Lestrade that I would be able to handle things on my own now and that he should continue investigating in the case. Sherlock shouldn't have felt like he did for nothing and we needed to find that Gareth Skinner. He could give us valuable information on where to find the head of that new Moriarty organisation. And would it only have been so that I could show him what I was really capable of. I wouldn't allow anybody to torture Sherlock like this.


	6. To die was an art Chapter 2 pt 3

-Sherlock's point of view-

Suddenly I had realized that I wasn't alone in my bedroom anymore. And it didn't need many deduction skills to find out it was John sitting on my bed. I knew his weight, his smell, the way he breathed, everything.

I turned around, sat up and looked at him. He had taken his hand off my shoulder where he had placed it before and returned the favor. John looked, as other people would describe it, attractive, and I wondered how the poor lighting managed that.

"Careful!", he said, ready to hold me if I would fall out of the bed. What an interesting coincidence. John would catch me if I fell. Didn't he always?

"I'm fine", I replied, maybe a bit too harsh, "But what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with Mary?"

I wouldn't keep John from his happiness. And I didn't even understand. If he could be with his wife, his pregnant wife, why would he stay here with me? That wasn't logical.

"I worry about you. The way you have acted today. Haven't I told you not to take the drugs? Look what they do to you."

"As I said: I'm perfectly fine. I would have never brought us further to Moriarty if I hadn't taken them. They helped me think. I had to focus on the case."

"Yes, and I know exactly why", John said, moving a bit closer to me, "Because you had to keep your thoughts away from me."

I looked at him in surprise. How did he... yes, it was him. Of course he knew. But... how was I to react? Simply tell him the truth? I couldn't lie to John anyway. I was aware that sooner or later he would find out, and if I had lied to him, he would be mad at me.

"Yes", I said and smiled slightly.

"You couldn't stand the fact of never seeing me again. Of course you didn't tell me that you were on a suicide mission, that you wouldn't return. You are not as heartless as you might think, Sherlock."

"I did it so I wouldn't have to deal with those tedious farewell rituals", I replied knowing that it was only partly true. John would have shouted at Mycroft, how he could possibly let it happen, He would have shouted at me, how I could possibly go, how I could listen to the bloody words of my brother. There would have been a lot of shouting and although it was a part of him that I tended to enjoy for some reason, I wanted his smile to be the last thing I'd see of him.

"And that's also why you didn't admit that you love me?", he now grinned with some kind of happiness in his eyes.

"I... I'm... I... sorry, wh.. what?"

"Before you got into the plane. You said there was something you've always meant to say but then never have, and since it was unlikely that we'd ever meet again you planned to say it then. You might be good when it comes to ashes or sand, but I am observant in some ways, too. I know what it was you meant to say. You wanted to say that you love me."

"John, I..."

"You don't need to say anything. I know you are not familiar with these kinds of emotions. I know that you are not even sure if it's love, that you don't know where the line between friendship and lovers ends, that you don't know what it means that you feel close to me, to like the way I act and the way I look, and that you don't know what love feels like. But it doesn't matter", he placed his hand on my cheek now, "Because I have never experienced something quite like this before, either. And maybe we can just find out together? Set our own limits but see what this between us really is."

I didn't know what to say. He had managed to describe how I felt in a way that I never could.

Then suddenly he closed his eyes and got closer to me. My eyes widened as I realized what he was up to. He meant to kiss me! I... I panicked. I didn't know what to do! I mean sure, I have had imagined this several times, but now it was real and I... then his lips touched mine.

At first I didn't move, and if it had been anybody else I would have pushed him away immediately. But this was John. I slowly started to answer the kiss. A whole bunch of emotions ran through my body, a kind of happiness made me shiver, the blood rushed through my veins. He was so tender and gentle. Was this what love felt like? I wanted more of it, I never wanted this to stop. I started to kiss him more passionately, which he took as a sign and pushed me down to the bed.

Then, just as he had started to open the buttons of my shirt, there was a clapping sound. John jumped aside and turned around, I looked straight forward, and there he was again.

"Well Sherlock, congratulations. You surprised me. It's not easy, but you did."

"I would return that compliment, but for some reason it was expectable that you'd show up", I replied, trying to calm down my breath. I hadn't realized that it had fastened because of John before, and the fright Moriarty had given me didn't really slow it down.

"You don't have to act like that, Sherlock. I know you. You are scared. This old ghost returning to make your sunny day a bit shadowier."

"I haven't been talking about you. There are ghosts way more dangerous, laying further in the past. People who were able to do things you couldn't even imagine. Compared to them you are just... boring!"

"You think so, honey? Well, then let me show you how boring I am!"

He lifted his hand, he precipitated John down the edge of my bed. But it wasn't just the floor he'd land on anymore, there was a never ending darkness that'd he'd fall into.

"Sherlock!", John screamed just like on that day when I had jumped. I couldn't see him no more.

"But the fall is boring, isn't it? You remember my last lesson, don't you?"

"No! NO! Don't you dare!"

"It's the landing that kills you!"

I was no longer in my bedroom, I was at the scene I had been in years ago. But the roles were switched. John had jumped, I had watched. He was laying on the floor, dead, bleeding, and I was fighting my way through the people surrounding him. "John!", I screamed. This couldn't be true.

"See what I can do? I'm still out there, Sherlock!", now it was only his voice speaking to me, it came from like everywhere, "I know everything about you. I am watching. I've always been watching you. So you better find me, or I'll take away all the things you love. East wind is coming. You should have appreciated the boredom!"

"Oh Sherlock", I heard Mycroft, who layed his hand on my shoulder as I kneeled next to John, trying to bring him back to life, "Haven't I told you not to get involved? Caring is not an advantage."


	7. To die was an art Chapter 2 pt 4

John's point of view

"Good morning, Mary", I sighed still a bit sleepy and turned to lay my arm around her. But the place next to me was empty. I slowly opened my eyes. I... I wasn't even at home. This was... Sherlock's bed! I had to think hard to remember what happened yesterday and ran my hand over my face as I sat up. Sherlock's bed! When I had started to let these thoughts get to me I had always imagined it differently. I thought that when it would happen, well, something actually would have happened. But surely I must have fallen asleep at some time when I had sat next to him taking care. Taking... he was not feeling well so why on earth did he get up?

I jumped out of the bed immediately. Probably he had wanted to use the bathroom in the night and had broken down on his way! If he would lie somewhere unconciously or... worse... I would never forgive myself for not being able to protect him.

"Sherlock?", I shouted through the apartment as I ran towards the living room, "Sherlock?!"

He was sitting in front of a table and used his laptop. He wore his dressing gown and didn't even look up when he heard me enter.

"What are you doing there?", I asked as I walked over to him.

"Oh, good morning, John. Great that you're awake. We have to go to Scotland Yard."

"What? Sherlock it's..", what time was it even? I wanted to look at my phone, but it wasn't where I had left it. Of course. "Sherlock, have you seen my phone?"

"Oh, yes. I looked at it to see if Lestrade had been able to make some progress and surprisingly he has. They were able to track down Gareth Skinner and they had asked him several questions, to which he didn't reply. So I've been looking him up. Found out some interesting facts and now we have to go to Scotland Yard to meet him and find out who was behind all this."

He had already got up and walked towards the bathroom.

"Sherlock, you can't just go there! You passed out yesterday!"

"I'm fine", he simply said before he closed the door and started to shower.

I shook my head and went to the kitchen, well, if you could still call it kitchen. Not much had changed since I had moved out, except that Sherlock had gotten himself even more equipment for his... experiments. I was almost scared to open the fridge, anything could await me in there. I opened it but... it was empty. Of course, Sherlock had wanted to leave. Keeping anything in there would be rediculous. Although six months were nothing... He surely could have found an experiment that could have taken that long...

So, no breakfast. But that wasn't too surprising anyway. Maybe we could get something to eat while going to Scotland Yard. I knew I couldn't stop Sherlock from going, so I would simply have to join him. But I would make him some tea. Mrs. Hudson couldn't as she was in hospital now. He surely would work on something while I would get dressed and that was easier with a nice hot cup of tea.

I opened the cupboard to get the cups, but there was something strange. A piece of paper looked down on me. "Forward to John" it said... That confused me. I opened another door of the cupboard, and it was the same there... and the same in all the other ones... in the last one I found a letter.

~ Sherlock's point of view~

I stepped into the shower and turned on the water. There was a fight in my head. The first voice told me to slow things a bit, so I wouldn't have to be confronted with John. After that dream I had had last night I could barely look at him. I had never dreamt anything like that before, the beginning was embarassing enough, embarassing and dumb, and the ending was still as terrifying as it had been in the night. That's what the second voice referred to. I had to hurry to solve the case and protect John. No matter how much I wanted to avoid him right now, I knew that I couldn't live without him. What a confusing paradox. I would simply have to shut it out. For my own best and also John's. I had managed to do that before, I would be able to now. Anytime we met, every time I even heard of him, the... feelings became stronger. John was an extraordinary person, unlike anybody I had ever met before, and whatever it was that dragged me towards this fellow, it was unescapable.

The water fell down on me, ran over my body. It reminded me so much on that moment at the waterfall when John had saved me from Moriarty. "Why don't you two just elope, for god's sake!" Yes, why couldn't we? Things were much easier like that. We would go somewhere, leave everything behind. I simply knew that if I was with him all would be fine.

But that would never happen. John was with Mary now. And even if he wasn't... he'd never decide for me. He was straight. He had insisted on that so often. And I didn't even know about myself, I only knew that I didn't want to share him with anybody else. I wanted him to be only there for me. If he met other people... he'd probably decide for them and leave me. And the impulses... no.

I had none of that. I had to keep myself together now, think about the case. I was married to my work. Sentiment was a chemical defect found in the losing side. I would use the good feelings John gave me to motivate myself, I would keep him save, but not more than that. He was useful for me. He told me how to act when it came to social situations I didn't know until then. That was useful. He taught me how I could get to people easier.

I got out of the shower and took the towel. Dreams are nothing. Reality is everything. I had to remember that. Moriarty was somewhere out there. Some figure who wanted to hurt me and John. It was exciting! I would have to find the clues he'd leave for me! And those he didn't plan to leave. There were unknown dangers to face! I dried my hair and put my clothes on. Back to work. I was ready to begin.

"John?", I shouted as I left the bathroom, "I'm finished. You can go in there now."

There was no reply. I entered the living room; he sat in his armchair.

"John?", I asked looking at him worriedly. He had a sheet of paper in his hand and looked terribly down.

He then slowly lifted his head: "You didn't mean to come back..."


End file.
